That Doesn't Really Count
by Perdue
Summary: the year is at its end, and roxy hates the idea of leaving. jane decides to give her a going away present despite her better judgment.


lady practice

**Warnings: **dubious consent

**Disclaimer: **all your huss is belong to us

**That Doesn't Really Count  
**_-_

The residence hall your first year of university is small, beds and desks cramped into the space with little ceremony. Despite that, you both decorated the room as much as you could, she with her posters of blue men and mustaches, you with as many stuffed animal cats as you could fit onto your bed, and of course a television with only the PlayStation 3, GameCube, and Wii, since those were the only ones for which there was enough space, all stuffed in one corner of the room.

The year is almost at its end, and she's quiet about her excitement to return home because she knows that you do not share the sentiment. You aren't looking forward to the plane ride back to New York, you aren't looking forward to feeling constantly neglected no matter how much you try to reach out. But most of all, you don't want to leave her.

Next year will be the same as this one, you'll move in together into an apartment instead of the residence hall, and once classes start again it'll be like you'd never been apart, but you don't want to deal with the separation for three whole months. Going back to being online friends after having her be a very prominent part of your reality just won't cut it, and you know that.

She knows that, too, and she knows what it means to you, and that your feelings on the matter are a lot stronger than hers. So she is quiet.

It's been obvious from the start, and while she can be a little dense sometimes, you know that she has to know. You aren't exactly a subtle person. The only times you've ever hooked up with anyone in the past year have been with girls who look suspiciously like her, you're constantly at her side doing everything you can for her just short of doing all of her homework, you give her much more physical affection than anyone else, and, naturally, the time that she accidentally walked in on you masturbating just as you moaned her name. Awkward.

That was a long time ago and it hasn't been mentioned since, in fact you would've easily gone on assuming it would go unmentioned forever. How would you ever expect her to bring it up on her own?

There's only a week left before you're on the plane to New York, and you've only packed a few things, knowing that you'll do fine with procrastination as long as you pack for six hours straight the night before. Her side of the room is starting to look bare, and when you come back from class that day, all of her posters have been taken down, her desk and the majority of her closet packed up into boxes that are shoved into one corner of the room.

Your day hadn't even been particularly bad, but the sight of her things all packed away hits you like a ton of bricks, and it takes a few moments to realize you aren't supposed to cry. Therefore, when she looks up from her book, initially with a smile and a greeting prepared, she is surprised into silence at your abject expression.

"Roxy?" she inquires quietly, but you don't respond, instead dumping your backpack on the ground and falling face-first onto your bed. Everything is silent again. Your brain is stuck on an anxious loop of trying very hard not to cry and wondering just what she must be thinking of your behavior right now, or if she's even thinking of you at all. Being forced to contemplate whether or not you cross her mind when you're right there in front of her makes you want to scream. You hate how much you want her, because surely you deserve to feel more wanted than this, and—

Suddenly she's moving, laying her book down on her bed and moving over slowly to brush aside a few cat plushes and sit next to you on your bed, and your train wreck of jumbled thoughts finally skids to a halt. "Hey," she murmurs, and brushes your hair out of your face. Looking up to meet her gaze turns out to be an awful idea, because she is so unfairly lovely, bright eyes alight in a way reserved for her rare moments of revelation. "I don't know if this is okay to talk about, but I've been thinking about earlier in the year. Um, the time that I walked in here and you were—"

It takes you a second to realize what she's talking about. She's walked in on you doing a lot of inane bullshit, so pinpointing one vague thing isn't exactly easy. But from the way pink has risen in her cheeks and she isn't quite able to look you in the eyes, a heavy feeling falls into your stomach and you sit up a little despite your sudden nausea and nod.

She swallows and you think she's going to continue talking, but she never does. You're too afraid to say anything, so you wait.

When she takes her shirt off, you know it's different this time than it ever has been before. Normally she's very private about her body, doesn't even feel comfortable changing in front of you half the time, which usually results in her standing in the closet with her back turned to you while you pretend you're not looking and secretly (disgustingly) wishing you could see more than just her back.

Now, though. Now she's facing you, sitting upright on the bed right in front of you, and she's staring at you from behind her glasses and her cheeks are rosy with anxiety and embarrassment. And goodness knows you're trying to look into her eyes but her breasts are suddenly being released from her bra, which she drops onto the floor with her shirt, and you can't keep yourself from staring, open-mouthed, saliva building up and a tingling sensation working itself between your legs. Her breasts are big—a lot bigger than yours, which is a source of self-consciousness you didn't think would ever be staring you right in the face—and her nipples are big too, different from yours. Their radius stretches out over more than just the tip of her breasts, unlike your tiny pinpricks, and the soft, pink skin seems to taper off instead of ending abruptly in a perfect circle. Her nipples are erect, and they are so rounded and stick out a lot farther than yours do when it's cold or when you're quietly trying to touch yourself in the dead of night.

"Are you going to touch me?"

She chokes a little over the words because she's so nervous, and you realize that you were indeed staring very openly and possibly drooling a little. "A-Am I allowed to?" is your tentative response.

"I think so," she whispers, and you swallow, ready to reach a hand out before caution holds it back, and you realize that it might be rude to go right to touching her boobs without even trying to kiss her first. But she sticks her chest out expectantly, and your fuzzy brain decides it can worry about kissing later, maybe when the excitement of having two very large, very appealing breasts pushed at you dies down a little.

(You're not actually sure if that excitement will die down even a week from now.)

She's still waiting, and you swallow again, breath coming shallow, and this time when you reach out you don't stop yourself. Her skin is warm, breasts pliant beneath your searching fingers. You cup one, thumb brushing faintly over her nipple, and the breath she releases is a soft moan. This comes as encouragement to you, and your other hand goes to her other breast, massaging lightly. She shuts her eyes, and she seems equal amounts uncomfortable and pleased, and you aren't sure what to make of that. One of your hands moves up her chest and rests on her shoulder, and her tensed body twitches at the touch.

"Janey, what's wrong? You should really loosen up."

Silence is your answer, and she's no less tense than before, so you lean in and press your lips to hers, and for all you'd imagined doing this, it's turning into a bit of a disappointment. She's not even responding, and you don't know if it's because she doesn't want you to kiss her or just because she doesn't know how. The fact that she's never kissed anyone before rears up in your mind, and while subconsciously you know that it's because she was saving herself for Jake, you try to focus more on the excitement that you could be her first.

"Do you want to lay down?" you ask cautiously, moving away from her lips and trying to look into her eyes. She doesn't meet your gaze, just does as you suggested. You like the way she looks, lying on her back, her breasts rounded and her stomach still plush even when flattened some by gravity. The light blue of her eyes is barely recognizable under heavy lids, and her serious expression nearly cancels out the silliness of the stuffed cats surrounding her. "Um, Janey, are you sure this is—"

"Would you stop talking?" she cuts in, and you follow her order without thinking. "It feels good so don't stop." With a tone as short as hers you might normally not be disposed to believe her, but you're horny and selfish and the subject of the majority of your fantasies just asked you to not stop touching her. You're only doing what she told you to do, right?

Hesitation nowhere to be seen, you lean down and touch her nipple with your tongue instead, licking it once before sucking on it hard enough to draw out a desperate gasp from her parted lips. You massage her other breast in your hand and pinch the nub of her nipple, noticing as her hands reach out, her intention to grasp the bedclothes but ending up with fist-fulls of cats. She still hasn't relaxed even a little bit, but each gasping breath of hers goes straight between your legs, and it's a testament to how incredible and unexpected this is that you haven't even been touched _chastely_, and yet you're so wet your panties are damp.

Thinking about wetness and applying it to her is making your mouth water more than it already is with a nipple between your lips, and you aren't sure what she's allowing you to do, but you want your mouth to be on another section of her body entirely. So you lick at her nipple a few more times before inching down, kissing her stomach along the way until she pushes at your head. "Not there," she murmurs, and you make a face because you really like her belly and kissing it is awesome. But since she's insistent that you don't, you simply use your hands to hike up her skirt and waste no more time in scooching all the way down, nosing her panties and trying not to worry that she isn't as wet as you. You can change that.

Hands are on her hips, fingers hooking on the band of her plain white underwear, and she doesn't say no so you inch them down. She lifts her hips only barely enough to get them under her butt, and before you're quite prepared, her panties are down to her knees and you're staring at the space between her legs. Her pubic hair is trimmed only to the point that it isn't completely unruly. Your thumb brushes through some of it and she makes a soft noise in her throat.

_Holy shit this is happening_ is all you can really think. She is already trembling, and it becomes more noticeable when your tongue opens her lips, mouth closing over them in an intensely intimate kiss and shit you still haven't actually kissed her mouth yet. But that'll just have to wait because her breathing is becoming shallow and you suck on her, tongue rubbing a little inexpertly against her clit.

"Inside," she whines desperately, and you aren't exactly sure what she's asking you to do, but you reach up and rub at her entrance with two fingers. She's definitely wet now. A feeling of victory surges through you, and one of your fingers slips inside her slowly. She draws in a deep and tremulous breath, which you take as encouragement, pulling your finger back and thrusting it in further.

You keep up this rhythm, finger-fucking her and massaging her clit with your tongue, occasionally curling your finger inside her or moving your mouth away to lick around and in between her silky sensitive folds of skin. You are dying of frustration, you want her to touch you everywhere, and it's worrying you a bit that it's taking her so long to get off. But you try to keep in mind that, although it's taking a while, she is still gasping softly and whining when you thrust harder into her.

Finally she tenses up even more than she already had been and lets out a strangled cry. Your fingers are covered in the evidence of her orgasm, and you keep thrusting slower and slower until her breathing fades from desperation to simple heaviness.

More than ready for your turn, you pull away and push your skirt down, but to your absolute shock, as soon as there's enough room for her to do so, she swings her legs off the bed and rushes over to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her.

You sit there staring at the bathroom door for five minutes, during which time you hear the shower start, and find it odd that, rather than racing with everything you must have done wrong, your mind is completely void of thought, your body so recently hot with sexual desire now void of feeling.

GG: I don't know.  
GG: I'm not getting anywhere with Jake, sometimes I feel like he's never going to notice me romantically.  
TT: I'm sure that isn't true. You know that he has the unfortunate and incessant shortcoming of being obstinately thick-headed when anyone approaches him with legitimate intentions of romance.  
TT: He likes to imagine it's a possibility with anyone who gives him the time of day, but he's so caught up in imagining the perfect hero-adventure hookup scenario that he never acts on his feelings for anyone.  
GG: ...  
GG: It sure seems like he notices you a lot of the time.  
TT: Trust me, he doesn't.  
TT: I would know.  
GG: Maybe.  
GG: I guess I'm just frustrated. We'll be done with this year soon and I haven't even gotten any of the college experience!  
TT: I'm sure if you attend a house party with Roxy you'd get more than enough of the college experience.  
GG: I know. I don't just want to drink though, I'd like to  
GG: Well...  
TT: Have sexual relations with someone?  
GG: Maybe!  
TT: Aren't parties a good place to find prospective sexual partners?  
GG: I guess so, but I don't want to do anything with a guy, and I don't necessarily want to be drunk when it happens. I feel like that would be betraying my feelings for Jake.  
GG: But if I was with a girl...  
GG: That doesn't really count as sex, right?


End file.
